Doubts
by Glowbug24
Summary: After an exhausting day saving Monte d'Or, the puzzle team returns to the hotel. Emmy finds herself with bigger problems to worry about. (Set just after the end of Miracle Mask, but contains major Azran Legacy spoilers.)


Back at the hotel, the professor sinks into a chair, head in his hands.

"Professor?" Luke yawns loudly. It's almost midnight. "Are you all right?"

"Don't fret over me, dear boy." Professor Layton's voice is husky.

"But that's not what I asked—"

"Luke," I cut in, "how'd you like to sleep in my room tonight?"

Luke blinks. "Um, okay…"

"Get your pajamas." I flash him a grin. "And Mr. Bear, don't forget him!" Luke nods dazedly and trots over to his suitcase.

I've brought cups of hot water and tea bags up from the lobby. It's nothing like the tea we make at home—I mean in London—but it's tea. More or less. I set a cup in front of the professor. "What a day, huh?" The cheery tone sounds forced even to me. I sigh, lay a hand on his shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, Professor."

His hat twitches in the smallest of nods. "Thank you."

Luke pops up from behind the second bed, hugging his teddy and an armful of pajamas. I beckon him into the other room.

"There's only one bed in here," he protests as I shut the connecting door.

"Well, we can share, or I can take the couch. Up to you."

Luke sets Mr. Bear on the (positively enormous) bed. "Emmy? What's wrong with the professor?"

I yank my own pajamas out of my suitcase. "He's sad, I think."

"But didn't he just get his best friend back? Th-that's good, right?"

God, I wish Rosa were here. She's much better at conversations like this. I unbuckle my camera pouch and flop down on the edge of the bed. "Well… Randall wasn't exactly the way the professor remembers him, was he?"

He fiddles with Mr. Bear's bow, then shakes his head.

"Sometimes… not everything is fixable. And you better believe the professor was _furious_ about Randall dragging you into it." I sit up, wrapping an arm round Luke's shoulders. "It'll get better, kiddo. Just maybe not today."

Luke snuggles against me, hugging his teddy. "Can we help?"

"I'm not sure. Right now, we're giving the professor some peace and quiet. Maybe tomorrow we can think of something to cheer him up, eh?" I ease out of the hug and stand up. "I'm going to change. Get cozy."

In the bathroom, I strip off my jacket and stare myself down in the mirror.

We found them.

The Garden, Ambrosia, Akbadain. All three minor legacies. We found them.

Uncle Leon's going to be _beside_ himself with joy. It's only a matter of months now before he finds what he's looking for.

We. Before _we_ find what we're looking for.

I throw my shirt on the floor. I have a report to write when we get home—when we get back to London, I mean. I have a feeling Uncle Leon is somewhere in town—Bloom's presence is enough evidence of that—but he won't summon me without concocting a really good cover story. It's sort of a shame. I haven't seen him in months.

The Nest is going to explode. No one will ever insinuate that I'm not up to a real mission again. Akbadain. The last great city of the Azran! This is a big enough discovery to absolutely _quell_ those rumors about nepotism, and… and what the hell am I doing?

Uncle Leon will only bury his head deeper into the Azran; even if I go to the Nest, I probably won't see him unless I pick the lock on his study. I'm not well-liked enough to be a hero amongst the agents; the best I could hope for is to be left alone for a change.

Maybe I could wait it out. Once we find it—once we find it he'll have nothing left to obsess over, right? We could be a normal family again.

But there's still the professor and Luke. I know Targent. Those two will be in crazy amounts of danger if they get any more involved with the hunt for the last legacy than they—than we—already are. They have no idea, and I'm about to let them walk right into it.

Damn it.

I can't abandon the mission. If I quit on this before we find that curse of a legacy, I know I'll never see my uncle again. That's assuming I survive more than a month.

I strip off clothes and boots, yank my pajama shirt over my head, brush my teeth so hard my gums bleed. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

* * *

When I get back Luke's changed into his own pajamas and is on top of the covers, hugging his teddy and already fast asleep. Well, one night of unbrushed teeth won't hurt him. I flick off the lights.

The hotel sofa is as soft as my bed—this is Monte d'Or, after all—but sleep eludes me. After an hour, I get up and ease open the door to the professor's room. Maybe _he_ could talk sense into Uncle Leon. I certainly couldn't; I've tried. Would it be so wrong to ask for help?

The lamp is still on, but the man himself has dropped off at the desk without even removing his hat. After the week we've had, I haven't the heart to wake him. I pull a blanket from the bed and drape it over his shoulders. There are tear tracks on his face. Gently I pluck the hat from his head and set it beside him. The tea's still there, too, cold and almost untouched. I pour it away.

This is a fool's errand, isn't it?

A gentleman always helps a friend in need. But I'm not a proper friend; almost every minute we've known each other has been based on a lie. And the truth? _Professor, I'm actually a member of a criminal organization that's obsessed with the Azran. I've spent the last two years spying on you. I think my uncle might be past reason and very nasty things tend to happen to people who try to leave… Can you help me?_

I'm not certain he can. I'm not certain he _will._ And I don't have a Henry or an Angela to help pull me up if I step that close to the edge.

I turn out the lamp.

Luke is still asleep when I return, but he's shivering. I lift him onto my shoulder, turn back the blankets, then tuck him in. He snuggles closer to Mr. Bear. After a moment, I climb into the opposite side of the bed.

I have to remember why I took this mission. I want my uncle back. That's what matters. If this is what makes him proud of me—this is what I do. A good agent uses any tool that comes to hand. That's what I'm doing, isn't it?

It doesn't matter… I made my choice a long time ago.

With a small hum, Luke turns over in his sleep. I bury my head in the pillows and wait for morning to come.


End file.
